Strain of Defiance (Bixby Series Book 2)

by Michelle Bryan

  “Never thought I'd say this, but I'm so glad to see that disgusting stink hole of a city.” Dom stretches his back as he stares at the horizon.

  “Never thought I'd say this, but I couldn't agree with you more,” I mumble his way.

  My words seem to tickle Gordon's funny bone and he laughs. “Holy moley. Mark this day on the calendar. You two are actually agreeing on something? Rare.”

  “You got that right,” his brother agrees with the young ginger. “That only happens once in a blue moon.”

  “Actually,” Gordon begins, and we emit a universal groan since we all know where this is heading. “That saying is totally inaccurate. Even though it's supposed to refer to a rare phenomenon, a blue moon is really not that rare. They happen a few times a year at least and sometimes within months of each other when the lunar cycle puts the full moon at the beginning of any month but February. I read that—”

  “Gordo, I swear to God, if you don't shut up, brother or not, I will rip your tongue out and serve it to the dog.”

  Gordon's look to Mike is one of quiet indignation. “A simple 'please stop talking' will suffice. No need to be rude.”

  “Don't worry, Gordo,” Sam intervenes. “I, for one, missed your stories. Talk away, my friend. I'm all ears.”

  “Yeah, you're gonna be real sorry you ever said that,” Badger sighs.

  “Well, Sam,” the kid stresses Sam's name, ignoring the others. “That saying originates from...”

  I walk away from them shaking my head in amusement. Just the sight of the city seems to have already put life back into us. Especially me. Getting closer to the Grand means closer to Jess and the tests Sam promised me he would undergo. And closer to unloading Sam’s secrets. Holding this secret in is killing me and I need to release it before I explode.

  Even Luke seems to be coming back to himself somewhat. Well, at least he's not looking at me in disgust now like I'm some damn booger on a tissue. That's an improvement I think.

  “Kelly, radio the Grand. We're only about forty or fifty miles away. They should be able to pick up our transmission. Let them know we're almost home,” Luke orders.

  “You got it, boss.”

  I dig the water canteen out of my backpack and swallow a mouthful, waiting for Kelly to finish his call so we can get back on the move.

  “Unit four to the Grand. You guys there?”

  Kelly's question is met with radio silence.

  “Unit four to the Grand. Lois, Roy, anybody? You guys hear us?”

  Still no response.

  “Never mind, Kelly.” Luke says as he climbs back on his bike. “We still must be too far out. Keep trying the closer we get. Let's move out.”

  * * *

  Kelly tries again and again to contact the Grand over the next few hours with the same result every time. No response. Not only is it strange, but it's downright unsettling. The Grand has someone manning the radio at all times. What exactly is going on? The sickening sensation I've been traveling with this past couple of weeks returns twofold the closer we get to the city. And although no one comes right out and says it, I know the others feel the same. Something is definitely off.

  We pedal fast and hard when we can ride in the city and run with our bikes through the streets when we can't. Our need to have our fears abated takes precedence over our protesting muscles at the moment. There has to be a reasonable explanation. The Grand's radio could have gone down for any number of reasons. Power outage. Mechanical malfunction. A stupid loose wire. There are any number of factors.

  Oh, God, please, please, please let it be something as innocent as that.

  The sun sits low in the sky by the time we round the corner and come to a standstill in the middle of the street in front of the Grand. The bright evening rays reflect off of the metal sheets covering the gate with an array of colorful prisms, nearly blinding us. But the sight causes twisted fingers of fear to gnaw at my gut since those normally locked tight doors now stand wide open, confirming our worst fears. Our home has been compromised.

  The terror travels up my throat and escapes my lips as a hoarse, “No.” The images of finding St. Joseph’s the same way and the horror laid bare to us there swirl in my head, and my knees almost buckle underneath me. This can't be the same scenario. It just can't!

  I'm unaware that I've dropped my bike and am running in panic mode until Luke catches up with me. He grabs my arm to stop my flight of terror and throws me up against the iron wall. The rest of the crew quickly follow, taking shelter against the barrier.

  “Bix, wait. We can't go running in blindly.”

  He's right. I know he's right, but that doesn't stop the fear racing through my heart. I close my eyes and take a shaky breath.

  “Amy...Liv...Coop,” I say.

  “I know,” he agrees, and his voice is tight with his own fear but still he keeps me pinned. “But you're not going to be able to help any of them if you get yourself killed stumbling in stupidly. Understood?”

  My sharp nod confirms that I get the gist, and he releases my arm.

  “I know all of you want to rush in, but we need to take this slow.” His words are hushed as he swivels his head, studying the gate. “I don't think anything human is waiting to ambush us since they could have done that already while we were standing like idiots in the middle of the street. Not a single shot was fired to try and take us out, so that can mean one of two things. Whatever happened here, the threat is already gone or it's not human.”

  I don't like either of those options. But there is only one way to find out. We need to go in.

  * * *

  We smell him before we see him. He's hanging from the rafters in the middle of the Grand's lobby like a bloated Christmas decoration.

  Wentworth.

  Seeing the man we thought had died weeks ago on our previous mission tells us all we need to know, and the growing fear pulses like a living thing between us. There’s no doubt. The ravagers have been here.

  As if killing him wasn't enough, they had mutilated him as well. The right leg had been severed at the groin. The other stripped bare and covered in bite marks, chunks of flesh missing in places. Whether it is human bites or leeches, it's hard to tell and I don't want to study the leg up close. Underneath him sits a pile of congealed blood, bits of flesh, and excrement. The defilement adds to his degradation.

  Ten chairs are placed in a circle around the hanging man. Ten bodies strapped to them. The wall guards. The killers had tied bats and sticks into their hands, making them look like they are party goers all waiting to take their turn to have a whack at the Wentworth piñata.

  Evie stifles a scream as she recoils in panic from the grisly scene. The rest of us stand in shocked silence. But from that silence, the fear for the rest of our people grows in leaps and bounds.

  Luke is the first to break himself free from the horrible trance we all seem to be in. He walks toward Wentworth and studies him up close.

  “Jesus,” he whispers in horror as if he can't believe what they've done to the poor bastard. Suddenly yanking his knife out of its sheath, he starts sawing at the rope above Wentworth's head. The rest of us move in, holding the body and lowering it gently to the ground once the rope lets go. That's when I notice the paper attached to his hand...held in place with a very familiar knife. The shiver that racks my body is uncontainable.

  Luke notices it as well and jerks the bloodstained paper free and begins to read.

  “First of all let me say how sorry I am to have missed you all. I didn't get your names the last time we met, but the people here weren't hard to convince to fill me in on your names and your whereabouts. And thank you for leaving us this perfectly delectable invitation to your Grand Hotel. He was a hard nut to crack at first, but after cutting off a few delicious dangly parts, he sang like a canary. After that we cut out his tongue.

  It's a shame we didn't get to meet face to face. We have some unfinished business. But until then, your people will provide us with the sustenance
we need to build up our strength. Well, those we took alive anyway. Toodle-doo for now.

  Yours truly,

  Gunner.

  P.S, you should have killed me when you had the chance, bitch. Told you you were soft.

  Oh. P.S.S, we left you a few little hidden Easter eggs. Have fun.”

  A pall of horror and dread hangs over us, numbing us into inaction. I feel sick to my stomach and my head woozy from shock. Gordon finally tears his gaze away from Wentworth's body and stares around at us all, his eyes huge with fear.

  “Those they took alive....,” he trails off, and his words only intensify my terror. I so badly want to run to the fifth floor to check on Amy and Liv, but I know we have to be careful and think every move through. I wait for Luke to make the call.

  “Groups of two,” Luke orders. “Search every room, starting this floor up.”

  His command propels us into action. Sam joins my side, forming our twosome. We split up, each group moving in an opposite direction.

  “Be prepared, guys.” I turn back at Luke's grave words. “This is bad. You're going to find more shit you're not going to like.”

  I know he's right, and the toxin of terror spreads through my veins but I squash the fear down deep. Doing something is better than standing here not knowing what's happened to those we love.

  Sam and I head in the direction of the dining room/ kitchen area. The normally noisy atmosphere of these rooms is heavy with oppressive silence now. Tipped over tables, broken chairs, and random blood splatters tells a gruesome tale. A hard fight had waged here, and I can feel despair permeating out of my pores.

  I don't want to move into the room any further, but Sam coaxes me quietly, “You can do this.”

  I tap my fingers on the handles of my knives as we enter the room. It appears empty but something feels off. Glancing over at Sam, I whisper, “Can you hear them?”

  He knows what I'm referring to right away. “No. There's no hybrids here. I think this is all ravager's doing.”

  It doesn't make me feel any better.

  We move beyond the dining room and into the kitchen. The sight of the dozen or so hardened little piles of dough stretched out on the long stainless steel counter tells me Cookie was in the middle of a baking class with some of the kids when this shit went down. I smother the scream of anger threatening to erupt at the sight. The kids. I don't want to think about what may be happening to them right now. I can't process the horror. I need to focus.

  A thump interrupts the horrible images in my head, and as my eyes swivel to Sam, my brows raise in a silent question. He nods and points to the dumbwaiter at the end of the kitchen. The old relic left over from the Grand's hotel days is a perfect hiding spot for anyone waiting to attack us. Another slight thump. Someone or something is in there. Is it someone of ours or theirs?

  Sam lifts his gun, pointing it at the small elevator and motions me toward it. I get the message. Open it, and if it's something we don't like, he'll deal with it.

  Taking a deep breath, I tiptoe to it and reach for the handle. Twisting and yanking at the same time, the metal door flies up with a jarring bang and I jump backwards out of Sam's shooting range, readying my knives.

  Six terrified, tear-stained faces stare back at us.

  “Jesus,” I let out my pent up breath as Sam lowers his weapon.

  “Bixby,” I recognize the girl, Lacey, as she cries out in relief. She’s one of the older kids from the fifth floor, and she’s holding a young boy in her arms, comforting him as he stares at me through fear filled eyes.

  I fall to my knees as they rush me, latching onto me like I'm the second coming. I pull them close, running my hands over their faces, their hair. Taking as much comfort from them as they are from me.

  “You guys okay? Are you hurt?”

  “No. We're okay,” Lacey speaks for them all.

  “What happened?” I direct my question to her since she seems to be the one keeping it together the best.

  “I don't know. We were in the kitchen with Cookie when we heard screaming and gunshots and...,” she falters. I rub her arm encouragingly, urging her on. “Cookie put us in there and told us not to make a sound and to stay put until someone came for us. Then we heard more shouting and her screaming. I think...I think that was maybe two days ago. I'm not sure of the time. But I'm so glad to see you.” Her words catch at the end like she's about to lose it. Obviously the strain of keeping it together for the smaller kids has taken its toll, and the poor kid has had enough.

  “Hey. You did good. You kept the little ones safe.” She smiles at my praise through her tears. “But I need you to be just a little bit stronger. I need you all to go back inside there and stay quiet again, okay? We need to make sure it's safe here for you all to come out. I'll be back soon, I promise. Can you do that for me?”

  Her nod is cut short as her eyes flick to something behind me and grow big in terror. I hear Sam's warning of “Bix!” a split second before the movement from the pantry door registers in my peripheral. I only get time to shove the kids away from me before I'm knocked sideways into the metal counter as a heavy weight settles on my back.

  The gurgling and stink that encompasses me tells me all I need to know. I'm being straddled by a fucking leech even if I can't see it. I know any moment of panic or hesitation will make the difference in me being its lunch right now, so I act on instinct. Pushing with all my strength against the metal counter, I jerk myself sideways and flip it off of my back. It flops onto the floor, its teeth snapping dangerously close to my face. I leap to my feet, but it is just as nimble, and it's on its knees before I can recover the knives I dropped when it blindsided me. Fueled by anger and fear, I plant my boot in the center of its chest and push, sending it backwards on its ass across the tile like a rag doll. Sam takes advantage of the space between us now and shoots, putting it out of its miserable existence before it can retaliate. I turn away from the brain splattered wall back to the kids, hoping to shield them from the awful vision, but Lacey is way ahead of me. The girl has already herded the younger ones back into the dumbwaiter. They didn't see the carnage. Smart girl.

  “Stay here,” I order her briskly. “Don't come out until I get back, got it? And take this.”

  I reach down for the Bowie knife at the base of the dumbwaiter and hand it to her. She takes it with no hesitation and gives me a quick nod. The kid has gumption; I'll give her that.

  After giving the pantry and the rest of the kitchen a quick once over for anymore unwanted surprises, we head back the way we came. Sam's dispensing of the leech has obviously been overheard by Luke and Kelly since we meet them hurrying through the dining room.

  “We heard a shot.” Luke's face is a tight mask of concern.

  “Yeah, we found what that fucker, Gunner, meant by surprise Easter eggs. There was a leech hidden in the pantry. I’m thinking it won't be the only one we'll find. Plus, we found some survivors hiding in the kitchen. Six of the kids. I put them back in their hiding spot until we've swept the building.”

  Luke nods at me. “Great news, about the kids I mean. I'll let the others know to be on the lookout for leeches.”

  He pulls his radio from his belt, but it crackles to life before he has a chance to use it.

  “Luke, you there?” I think it's Mike on the radio, but his voice sounds weird. Strained. Like something's wrong, and I feel the hackles rise on the back of my neck.

  “Yeah, here. What's up?”

  “We're in the Bullshit room. Man...it's not good. You better come. It's...you need to see.”

  “Be right there,” Luke signs off as the four of us stare at each other in mounting horror.

  This is going to be bad. Real bad. I don't want to go, and my mind is still protesting even as we start to head out. A block of ice starts to form around my heart, almost in preparation, since I know what we're about to find will probably fucking break us.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Dom, Gordon, and Evie are pacing outside of th
e Bullshit room. I can tell Gordon has been crying, and Evie appears to be in shock. Probably wishing she had stayed at the farm, no doubt.

  “Mike?” Luke questions as soon as we see them.

  “Inside,” Gordon answers before his eyes flit to me with something akin to pity. Why is he looking at me that way? Fear coats my mouth again, and I hurry my pace. What did they find in that room?

  “Bix, maybe you shouldn't go in.” Yeah, like that's going to change my mind. I shake off Gordon's hand and push my way past him into the room along with the others.

  The smell of death is unmistakable. It hits us like a wall as soon as we pull open the door. Mike stands in the middle of the room, a look of complete and utter horror etched into his face, and my breath catches in my throat. But it's not him my eyes focus on. It's the line of bodies slumped against the wall on the far side of the room.

  “May God have mercy,” Luke whispers as we stumble into the scene of the crime.

  I know right away the dead hadn't died there against that wall. There’s no blood splatter to substantiate the fact. The ravagers had simply moved them there after killing them like a grisly welcoming committee for us to find.

  Coop is the first in line, his gray head turned at an awkward angle and face to face with Beth—one of the council members, like they are sharing a lovers’ kiss. His hand is placed on her breast in a morbid display of depravity. Anguish competes with anger in my chest at the sight of it. I bite back tears of grief as my eyes study the faces one by one. Alex, Tony, Jeff, Kingsley—most of the council members and guards eliminated. Hot tears well in my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to get rid of them.

  “Fuck,” Sam whispers in horror behind my shoulder and I turn my head, only glad to be leaving the sight of the dead behind. Only I don't because there are more lined up against the other wall.

  The knife in my heart twists even deeper as another face I love stares back at me with dead eyes.

  Liv.

  It's too much to handle. My throat closes in grief, and I can't breathe.